Lost in Finding
by helgraf
Summary: Four unusual characters find themselves drawn together for purposes unknown.  They must navigate a labyrinth of worlds, familiar yet strange as they seek to find out why they were brought together and for what purposes.
1. Introductions

_**Prologue**_

It was a cold chamber; sterile and sealed, which made its occupants stand out all the more by contrast as they sat, lounged or paced about the plasteel table that occupied the center of the room. There were no hanging tapestries, no holovid displays; no huge clear windows to look out over majestic vistas; simply the aforementioned table, a set of 8 chairs, and a small bank of monitors all currently with blank screens.

Rex, still clad in his CT armor, was the exception here - he fit in seamlessly with the dry, utilitarian chamber; sat in one of the chairs, angled at such a position where his carbine was always in easy reach - in this, at least, he was not alone - several of the others present were clearly armed.

By contrast, the woman to his right wore a black and red body-stocking complete with bi-fold cap whose two ends terminated in tiny brass bells with little clappers inside, such that they jingled not unpleasantly with her movements. She was constantly turning a single playing card over in the fingers of her left hand; relaxed, feet propped up, on on the table's edge, the other atop the first, whistling off-key, a carefree smile under the greasepaint pale.

Across the table from her sat a dark vision; here was a man whose mere nature seduced - even with his hair cut in a mullet and the high sparkle factor of his wardrobe, he often had but to murmur once, and any woman and more than a few men would submit to him. Such was the power of the master of the Labyrinth. And yet he, too, sat in this cold, sterile chamber; spinning three crystals idly in his left hand. His gaze occasionally wandered toward the others present; and one of the three crystals would tumble along the muscles of his hand and fingers to hang and wobble as if it, too, were watching.

And at the last cardinal point, a figure out of whimsy; dressed in feathered browns with a pink handkerchief tucked into a side pocket. Completely disheveled and untamed orange hair stuck out to either side of a face powder-white saving for purple lips and eye-circles. Intense eyes stared out on a world that none of the others could see; the mad visions held in place only by the outlandish top hat crammed so thoroughly upon his head; itself a battered masterwork with the unlikely purchase tag of 10/6 - 10 shillings 6 pence would be a steal - and in fact several at the table quietly presumed it had been just that.

They were, one and all, late. Quite late, permanently late, too late, pick one, some or all. It hardly mattered; whether the excuse was tea-time, a general misconception of time in general, goblin disciplinary exercises, or a togruta with a penchant for falling into trouble – sometimes literally – mattered not. All that mattered is across four fanons of surprising depth, not one had been able to heed the call. The only one who had heard could not act, was too far gone to do aught but rend garments, hair and flesh.

And now she was gone.

So they gathered, here, a nowhere among places, a place amidst nothing; a place that caused the mind to whirl and spin unpleasantly to think on the nature of too deeply or too long; each had their own thought of it, a convenient envelop to stick it in so they wouldn't linger too long on its nature and what it meant to them – and for them.

To Rex, it was simply Forward Alpha 1; a reconnaissance point, where you went to gather information to make better plans. That it looked out on no place he had ever known, and that the things he learned made precious little sense in the universe he came from – even the matter of just exactly where it was and home he came here; these were questions he didn't need the answers to. He left such thoughts to his superior officers wherever possible.

The lady in red and black figured it was just one of Mr. J's boltholes. Sure it was cleaner, and there weren't any bodies around – and nowhere you could get some decent food, or hide any loot. But none of that mattered at all, no no no, she told herself mentally. It was what it was, and she would keep it all under her hat for her big guy. Mr. J was brilliant after all, she knew that for a fact, had seen it so many times she couldn't possibly deny it, not at all. Flip, flip, flip. The playing card turned over and over in her fingers, back to front and back again. The jingle of the bells as she shifted her head ever so slightly from side to side in an arrhythmic matter soothed, it drew her mind away from the … inconsistencies.

Her cross-table companion kept his composure. Was he not, after all, the Goblin King? It mattered not whether this place was some bland deviltry from the dreadful, muddy world of the almost-women he lured into his world with promises and punishments exquisitely rendered, or even if it was some far stretch of the Labyrinth he simply hadn't bothered looking into in long years; there was naught and nothing that could shake him from his throne save that he permitted it the chance. That there were entire worlds beyond Minos was a thought that occurred to him even more fleetingly than the fact that every trial – every conquest left him with no more than he had ever had – that it was only when he lost that he gained. Indeed, he regarded the woman across the table from him keenly as the crystals spun in his hand, distorting her image and casting in their depths her aspect a hundred, thousandfold.

The Hatter, for his part, had tea. His understanding of the world about him was one that bore no consequence; whether through rabbit hole or looking glass, his thoughts returned to his repast. Why worry about what lay beyond, after all – you weren't there, but here, and here was pleasantry … and tea. Most keenly he regarded the china cup discarded, for what it might contain, now, or then, or yet to be. With curious deliver, and a languid shiver, pulled he up the pot and tilted free. More tea was the elixir that would suit.

It was the faintest shift in the chorus of unconscious musings; just the slightest flick of the wrist; something small sliced through the air; knocking the Hatter's teacup out of his hands to shatter on the floor below; spattering tea all over his shoes; the tannic fluid also seeped into the card that had caused the disruption, warping and discoloring the features of the joker depicted, giving it a disturbing, almost monstrous mien. As Hatter began to protest, a flustered outburst of nonsensical verbiage, the lady in red and black rose to her feet, to the balls of her toes, stretching, bending nearly fully backward so the tails of her hat brushed the floor before straightening once more.

"Yeah, so why're we here anyways? I know Mr. J didn't invite any of youse .. though you in the hat, you look like one of his type," she rattled at them as she moved.

"I most protest this improper use of playing cards … as well as this most unprovoked assault upon my crockery, my precious … tea service! Not since that wretched affair with that cerulean harlot have I been so assailed by ill mannered hooligans!"

"Come now Hatter," spake the Goblin King, swirling one of his crystals near to the distraught fellow, hand and sphere moving in an oddly hypnotic pattern, almost serpent-like in its sinuosity. "There will be other teas … other tea services …"

Hatter stared at the crystal, neck angling back and forth as it danced along the Goblin King's fingers. Then, his left hand grabbed the remaining teacup and … scooped up the crystal right off the back of his hand; the maneuver, so adroit and completely untelegraphed, left the Goblin King speechless … and for a moment, Jareth wondered if he'd set his sights on the wrong target.

"Parlor tricks … see what we are reduced to, in the absence of nobler things," the Hatter muttered, though his gaze hung forlornly on the teapot now absent its accompaniment; no longer whole, no longer united.

Rex's head snapped up suddenly; the Hatter's words seemed all too keen a reflection on where his own thoughts had drifted off to while the others prattled. His thoughts drifted back to the young Togruta Jedi whom circumstance had put him in the company of so often. Following after her, she would turn slightly … and then he nearly dropped his carbine, as her image was supplanted by another; a woman he had never met, yet knew. He could give her no name, could not place her in any of the campaigns he fought in, regardless, he knew her face and features as well as his own. He tried to focus on her; she slipped away, and he was once more following Ahsoka Tano before he pulled free of the memory.

He regarded the other three carefully. It would be too easy to dismiss them for their outlandish outfits and unusual manner of speech – too easy, and too great a mistake. If they were here in Forward Alpha 1, then they had a part to play. He cleared his throat. This seemed not to have the desired effect of grabbing their attention, so he tried it again for good measure. When it failed to work, he pulled his carbine and blasted a smoking hole in the table they lounged around.

"_Ahh, that was more like it," _Rex thought. Subtlety had its place, and there was a time for caution and stealth tactics … but there was also a time for decisive words and definitive action – and little got the attention like the sound of a modified DC-15S blaster carbine discharging at close range.

"Now that I have your attention," he said authoritatively, his gaze and the taint of ozone in the air daring them to prevaricate or otherwise drift away, "I think each of you knows something about why we're here." Again, his gaze swept over each one of them in turn.

The lady in red and black seemed pensive; she had fallen still, not even the quietest pealing of the bells in her outfit to indicate any motion at all; and the greasepaint made it difficult to read her facial expression. In this moment, she was the Tabula Rasa to him ... a literal blank slate.

As his gaze left her to wander to the teacup obsessed man, he observed the man's lips were moving, but no sound was emerging. By the rhythm of the motions and the pauses, Rex deduced he was likely going through some sort of mental list buried in that besotted brain of his.

From there, to the last member of their little group. Here, at least, Rex was on firmer footing. This fellow, this Jareth, was to him, just another scoundrel, another grifter manipulating anything he could put his fingers on, as much to watch it dance as to move it toward whatever elusive goals drove him. The man beckoned toward the Hatter with his fingertips repeatedly; it took the trooper observing this behavior a minute or so before he realized that he was apparently gesturing toward the crystal still sitting in the obsessed man's cup. In turn, it rolled toward the brim, but always skewed to one side or the other and fell back, apparently unable to surmount the rim of the cup. Yet for all of this, his head tilted slightly, and Rex knew he was being regarded by the other, if obliquely.

Hatter's head rose slowly, rheumy eyes peering around him. His gaze lifted to take in the crystals in Jareths supple hands, then down again to the one still caught in the teacup.

"Three … it should be more. It should be four. Three for tea? What an absurdity. An absolute Zugzwang of an idea." His hands, steadier than his bobbing, dipping head, lifted up the teacup, swirling it, frustrating another attempt by the crystal to depart.

"Well," Jareth husked indolently, "if another will make matters more interesting, then that's all you had to ask of me." He brought his two hands together, crystals bobbing behind them, then performed an elaborate splitting motion that was accompanied by a strange tinkling and a short lived corona of light; as this faded, where two crystals had lain, three now drew orbits in their place. "Will you be taking one of these as well, Teaman?"

"Of course not … it would be silly for a man of my position to spend all his time playing with silly glass balls. I have all I need," and here he made a flourish with his teacup, "right here."

"Then what," Rex inquired in a gravelly tone, "was the point of that entire exchange?"

"It's not for me to know. It's not for me to show, though I must go, beyond strangeness as never knew the Mock Turtle. Tea. Tea is company, and you three and me, make four before. By Rabbit's timepiece, you're a sluggish lot!."

"Oh, is that all it's about then," said the domino woman – and slinked up behind Jareth to inquire in his ear "I can have onna these, right?" Before he could do much more than register the scent of her perfume; an odd mix of heady florals with an acrid undertone, one languid arm folded across his chest and lithe fingers borrowed one of the three crystals he held. She debarked him with an acrobat's grace, sinuous and slender as any of the dancers at his Mirror Balls.

A slight sneer crossed his features, and he rolled one of the two remaining across the table to Rex. "Well, it seems everyone else is fascinated by my … offerings. It would hardly be fitting to leave you out, despite your appallingly dull wardrobe."

Rex, for his part, regarded the glass globe with the same sort of reserve one might have for a grenade of unknown caliber. Only when it stopped rolling, about a foot away and sat there did he allow himself to relax – a little. Finally, he reached out, and picked it up in his left hand – this would leave his better firing arm still free if this turned out to be some sort of treachery.

There was a faint hum, and the inexplicable sound of bird's wings fluttering in the moment when they launch from rest into full beautiful motion surrounded them. There was an uncomfortable wrenching sensation, and the room … changed.

What had been a cold chamber; sterile and sealed, was now … different, along the edges. In one corner, the walls had been transformed – the spartan plas now hard, ancient stone; with a passage leading off into darkness. Opposite this, the room seemed to empty into a highly unpleasant alleyway; complete with overfull dumpster spilling its excess contents onto the floor, and gang tags. Along the other axis, as the room gave way to strangeness, on one side hung an oversize, slightly convex mirror whose surface threw back distorted images. The fourth ended at a small balcony, overlooking a docking bay below, containing what Rex recognized as a _Dynamic_ class freighter – a very very old ship indeed, though even from here, he could recognize the ship had been extensively retrofitted.

"Seems rather an extravagant display to bother with if they just wanted to send us home, don'cha know?"

Jareth shook his head from side to side. The woman was fascinating, but every time she opened her mouth, he went from wanting to seduce her to wanting to drop her in an oubliette. "For a woman who spends so much time wandering around the inside of her own head, you'd think you'd recognize a labyrinth when you saw one."

"Oooh, you mean this is like a maze! Mr. J. likes mazes. So .. how do we find the exit, then?"

"It's not actually that simple, is it," Rex rumbled – fairly certain he already knew the answer.

"Oh, it's spot on – like any tea ceremony, you just have to know the steps to take in the right order … of course, if you get it wrong, it's off with your head, and it's beastly hard to wear a hat properly then," the Hatter quipped jovially, not seeming at all concerned about the inconvenience of being sans topper, so long as he wasn't sans chapeau.

"_He's like a drunken Firey, that Hatter fellow_," Jareth thought to himself. "One thing I can assure you … one never runs a Labyrinth just to find the exit. There's a goal … a reason for all of this. Unfortunately, here at the start, that reason is frustratingly unclear." He passed his remaining crystal back and forth along his hands, peering into it obliquely, as if hoping to discern some insight from its depths.

Rex's lips pursed tightly. He knew that strange woman lay at the center of this. He couldn't say how, or why – but every instinct he'd developed as a soldier told him it was true.

"Let's go, then," he said, then headed toward the hanger.

"Why are we followin' 'im again?"

"He's going someplace, and it's getting dull here. Also, splitting up just gets you picked off by Bats."

This last comment drew puzzled looks from both Jareth and the Hatter, but in the end, they followed suit.

As the last of them moved onto the hanger; the room they came from dissolved away, leaving a thick, heavy, blast door behind them – with no controls from this side to open it.

"I guess we're committed then?"

"We could only wish you were."

**End Prologue**


	2. Hawks Flight

_**Chapter 1 – Hawks Flight**_

Footfalls echoed through the depths of the landing bay; the near silent tred of the harlequin's stocking-toes could be discerned only in the faint whine of metal shifting on metal … by contrast, Rex's plastoid alloy boots striking the metal weave echoed through the chamber with each step.

The harlequin's lips pursed in annoyance … this was almost as noisy as working with Croc. Life was supposed to be full of neat surprises, but if there was anyone down there, they certainly weren't going to be surprised. She shook her neck just enough to make the tiny bells jingle for a moment … became lost in the tones, then reached for one of the support poles on the side of the catwalk, leaping over and plummeting down toward the deck below in an eerie silence disrupted only by a momentary hiss of formerly compressed air and the faint jangle of the bells.

The muffled thump that followed echoed in the ears of Rex and Jareth, as they peered over the edge intently; one's expression concerned, the other curious. Yet the sound must have been some phantasm, some spectre of the blood, for there, face mere inches from the deck the harlequin hung, dangling like a spider on an invisible wire, extending her legs outward, over the line of her back and down, til they touched in complete silence and she uncurled with the unnerving grace of a master gymnast … or assassin. One hand curled in the air above her head, like a conductor's movement, and there was a quick flicker.

She looked up at the two of them; the third, Hatter had never stopped, but continued to absently descend the catwalks, pausing only to adjust his namesake garment. The harlequin's head shook, she made the briefest 'c'mon' gesture and began to slink toward the vessel.

"Showy little minx, isn't she," Jareth murmured to Rex, then produced another crystal; letting it run back and forth along his fingers, then upending his hand, setting it free to fall to the floor below; it struck the deck, bouncing once, rather than shattering as might have been expected from such a fragile-seeming trinket. Jareth's globes, much like the seekers who came to his labyrinth, were more resilient than they seemed. He stood up straight, cocked his head, giving a dazzling dark smile, the sort that made hearts hammer, and vanished in a cloud of sparkling particles.

Rex was not normally a man easily surprised – his experiences in the Clone Wars had exposed him to a considerable extent of the universe's weird and unusual things and people. It however disturbed him to realize that the oddly dressed fellow with the tea obsession was probably the most normal one of the group aside from himself.

He dismissed the troubling thought as he attached a cable-line to the railing and rappelled down to the deck below, letting the boots and leg-plates of the armor absorb the impact. Taking a moment to retract the cord, he moved toward the _Dynamic_ class freighter, drawing his modified DC-15S blaster carbine as he went and moving to maintain a position from which he could lay down suppressive fire if need be.

The area was empty; too empty. Aside from the ship itself, there was no evidence that there was anyone at all about; not even droids. And yet the area looked too well maintained; the catwalks weren't degraded or rusting; all of the lights were functional and emitting at standard human comfort levels.

Hatter reached the deck, peering into the bottom of his teacup forlornly. He leaned back slightly, his free hand going to the odd little sideways pack he wore slung across his back; in the same moment a dark metal blade hissed through the air where his head had been just a moment prior accompanied by the distinct crackle of a collapsing stealth field. And it was not the only one.

"Ambush!"

Chaos erupted on the flight deck. Rex pivoted, carbine fire raking the small, gnarled thing charging toward him. Once, twice, yet the impact seemed only to madden the creature; its blade whipped out, but he caught the edge on the forearm plate of his suit at an oblique angle and the blade was turned aside rather than biting into the plastoid. The carbine was useless at this range; he dropped it and attempted to get inside his opponent's reach; left hand pulling out his vibro-knife. Whatever gave the creature such resilience in the face of blaster fire didn't extend to the destructive power of a vibro-blade … with three quick vicious slashes, Rex laid out his opponent, knocking its bleeding body onto its back. He gazed around the room as he retrieved his carbine; what he heard next sent chills down his spine.

The harlequin, laughing like a schoolgirl as she danced around her opponent; sidestepping a quick thrust, then doing a backflip out of reach of a wide slash, turning it into a cartwheel that ended in an extremely aggressive leap that planted both feet into her opponent's shoulders and slammed it into the ground.

"Such a cute little boy, swinging that toy around like that. Wish I had more time ta dance wit'cha but it looks like your buddy wants to cut in," she warbled before lifting one foot and driving the heel into its exposed throat, laughing maniacally even as its dark green blood sprayed up her leg.

Hatter, meanwhile, was having an ongoing conversation with someone regarding the inferior quality of the décor; punctuating his point with erratic gestures of the teapot he'd drawn out with his other hand. That these odd gesticulations occurred at the right moment to turn aside each of his would-be assassin's strikes was statistical lunacy … and yet Hatter bore no injury save that to his pride; which, to hear him speak, had been wounded to the quick.

"Entirely unsuitable! I tell you, it's too wide by half, there's no sunlight for the umbrella to block – however shall it fulfill its purpose without any sun, I'd like to know, then. Too wide, and not a suitable table nor service. March would be sorely put out … I –am– sorely put out. I will not waste good tea on bad scenery," he shrieked, upending the kettle, and spilling scalding hot tea all over. There was a hissing, then a very unfortunate sounding buzzing sound and the stench of ozone as something shorted out.

"You see what I mean? Even this clueless sod can see it," he exclaimed, gesturing at the twitching form, gasping for vapors no longer being provided for, asphyxiating in the nitrogen rich, oxygen light atmosphere favored by more human-like species. Hatter stomped off toward the ship; as his hands produced a rag, cleaned out the teapot, and secured it back among his belongings.

As the last of the mysterious assassins twitched on the floor, there was a hissing sound as an interior hanger door opened. An almost physical sensation of menace flowed from the silhouetted figure that stood in the opening; dark, short cut robes concealed much of its form from view; black plas-weave boots striking the floor with a hollow echo on each step as it strode into the chamber. Rex wasted no time, firing from the hip with the carbine at the approaching figure; the bright glow of the discharge streaked across the chamber, only to be deflected at the last moment, slamming into the nearby bulkhead; not even a second later, the captain found himself suspended in the air, crushed in a vice-like grip, as though a rancor had taken hold of him and begun to squeeze. Already he could hear the protest of the armor plating - and that of his body beneath under the strain of the far sturdier armor. Red and black flashes clouded his vision. here was a moist, juicy cracking sound. Knives spidered through his body tearing everything they touched as they raced for his brain. His body crumpled to the ground like a broken doll, hitting the 'crete with a sickening squelching sound.

Harley was a blur as she crossed the distance between her and the new assailant. "Y'know, normally I'da loved to watch the big fella bleed out ... but you don't seem the type to just let me sit and watch," she quipped as she somersaulted across the hanger - then found herself suddenly thrust most violently against the ceiling, held in place as though by some giant invisible hand.

Hatter, meanwhile, had walked over to where Rex had fallen, regarded the horrid mess of him there. In most places, there was no hope for him.

"The trick, then, is finding a place where there is hope," he muttered to himself, then slipped an arm under Rex's left and around the back, lifting him, armor and all, and slowly dragging him toward the spacecraft; leaving behind a smear of blood that followed him as he dragged the far taller man along.

Their attacker considered the scene silently, reaching out with her preternatural senses. She was sure she'd sensed another as she entered, but now there was no trace. The hatter she dismissed as meaningless; he barely even registered. The warrior was incapacitated; on a better day she might have had some fun with him before he went. The assassin woman she held against the ceiling effortlessly as she moved slowly through the hanger.

There was a faint tinkling sound ... immediately she spun towards it, but even as she did so, another, from behind and left ... and another ... and another ... tiny glass spheres sat upon the hanger deck around her, almost seeming to regard her as they lay.

"Such a pity ..."

Again, she turned, catlike, trying to orient on where the sound came from.

The voice droned on, canting in a mocking tone. "Hmmm, how does that doggerell go? Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me. Well ... let's see how well you've mastered it, hmmm?"

The Goblin King appeared amidst the glass spheres, one locus of the oval they described, the other loci being the woman also surrounded.

"I believe you see the nature of the challenge," he purred, gesturing idly; several of the spheres rolled toward her - she reached out with the force to send them back at him; the motions blunted, countered. Again and a third time to no avail. The two seemed equally matched; neither showed any inclination of ceasing. Soon, the spheres were whipping around the floor in arcs and curves, attempting to gain by subtlety what could not be mastered by direct force. As the struggle wore on, the woman's face twisted in irritation; Jareth, for his part, simply wore a wry, amused grin even as spheres raced through the air around, coming several times close but never quite managing to strike him.

Anger flared in the woman's eyes - anger and confusion; for she could feel no sense of the Force in this one. "What are you," she hissed as she attempted a flanking swipe that was turned aside with the tinkle of colliding glass.

"Come now, surely you're more clever than that, my lovely little wind-up doll." He took a step forward, smiling wickedly. "I'm everything you want," he purred, taking a second step as the whirling spheres swung chaotically between and around them.

"Everything you need," he husked, extending a hand out to her; one of the whirling crystals flew into it as if the most natural thing in the world; fingers began to twist and bend, the crystal rolling along the hand as though it were some invisible track. He bowed forward a moment as another of the spheres careened through the arc his head occupied just half a moment prior.

"Is all right here," he exhaled, now suddenly very close indeed, holding the crystal atop the tripod of forefinger, middle and thumb, presented to her as one might offer a gift.

"Follow your passion, if you dare," he whispered, the treble of his voice; the cat-like smile that curled his lips, revealing just a hint of teeth, the way his shirt hung just so, half unbuttoned offering a tantalizing glimpse of the chest beneath.

"Why I believe," she murmured, reached out, letting one fingernail trace along the back of his palm, "I shall," she exclaimed as she palmed the globe in his fingers triumphantly.

There was a bright flash, and the sound of glass shattering - and the sound of laughter, quickly fading. As the glow subsided, the woman was gone. The crystals were gone - all but one, clutched in Jareth's hand as he peered within.

"I wasn't even sure I could do that here," he said, allowing himself a soft chuckle, "Good thing she didn't realize that ... or it might not have worked."

His musing was interrupted by a wailing shriek followed by a sudden hard - and wet - thump as something hit the deck behind him.

The splayed supine form of the harlequin lay on the deck where it landed when no longer pinned to the ceiling by the force adept. She bled from several injuries, but pulled herself to her feet, wobbling from side to side disoriented.

"All ready ta go Mistah J," she warbled, then listed to one side. Jareth shook his head, then moved over and under her right arm; helping her stand straighter.

"Yes, well let's go see if Hatter found something to keep the captain together, hmmm?"

"Gots to get movin'," she murmured only semi-lucidly in reply. "All this noise is sure to bring Bats."

Jareth's left eyebrow raised quizzically, but he did not inquire. Together they walked up the boarding ramp into the Dynamic class freighter, following the slick of blood Rex's dragged body had left behind.

The faint thrum under their feet made it clear at least part of the ship's systems were already up and running; and the trail of blood made it clear which way Hatter had dragged Rex; after passing through a central area of the ship, it pivoted left through another (currently open) door. In here, Hatter was busy brewing tea as the med-bot units hummed and occasionally sparked; servo-limbs a blur of needles and tubes as they operated on the chest cavity; the upper half of his clone trooper armor had already been removed, set aside, and sprayed down with disinfective agents. Hatter's tea service sat inside the chest plate.

"Oh dear, another injured. There really isn't enough room for two. Tea for two, surely, but two for table is right out. Just set her down on the cargo cylinder here, back against the wall, won't you?" He gestured emphatically to make clear which of the two cylinders he meant, though only one abutted the wall.

Jareth put the harlequin down as instructed; nose wrinkling in distaste at the strong antiseptic sting that burned in his nostrils. "Fortunate for the Captain the ship had this ... fascinating ... thing on board, I suppose."

Hatter snorted derisively as he pressed a cup of tea into Jareth's hands, then adjusted his hat. "Fortune, hmpf. It's all in the leaves - stir until they say what you need," he retorted, as if this statement explained everything. "So what became of our uninvited guest," he inquired, reaching up to remove and retuck the 10/6 ticket.

"You might say she began an amazing journey," Jareth replied obliquely.

Hatter gave him the stink-eye, then poured himself another cup. They drank quietly while the machines did their work. Occasionally, Jareth would reach over to keep the weaving harlequin from tipping too far to either side. There was not more more they could do until Rex was fit for duty - he was the only one of them who might have the knowledge needed to fly this machine.


End file.
